The Trouble with Fate
by sexdrugsandoreos
Summary: The awkward middle child in a family of dominant personalities, Castiel Novak is used to doing what he's told. He's also pretty used to feeling alone (and, honestly, there are worse things to feel). But everything changes when Castiel starts at Truman High and, for the first time in his life, finds himself making friends - and faced with some very difficult decisions.
1. Chapter 1

Castiel Novak is afraid.

It's an unusual feeling. He might not be loud or especially aggressive on the face of it – and, compared to the domineering presences of his brothers, he is unquestionably the wallflower of the family –, but he knows how to defend himself and he's good at adjusting to the new and the crazy, if not always in the ways deemed most socially acceptable by his peers. He has to; he may only be sixteen, but with a family like his, he's already seen more than enough craziness to last a lifetime.

'GOOD MORNING, VIETNAM!' Lucien's booming voice fills the room as he comes bounding in, awake ludicrously early as ever. Cas slowly opens his eyes but doesn't respond, gaze blurrily fixed on the cracked white walls.  
>He thinks vaguely that they should really do something about that damp (but, of course, damp is the least of their worries; it's not like they'll be here long, anyway).<p>

Lucien is singing now – 'Good morning starshine,', swaying gently from side-to-side as he does with an expression of indisputable lunacy on his face. Cas sticks his head under the pillow and wordlessly waits for him to go away.  
>(He should be making the most of it, really – Lucien's good moods never stick around for long.)<br>As if on cue, Michael barges in, his mere presence seeming to demand silence before he's even said a word. Lucien's response – increasing the volume and switching to a falsetto pitch – is equally predictable.  
>Conceding defeat, Cas finally sits up. He glances at the alarm clock on his bedside table; he figures it can't be any later than 6.30, and that he might be able to use this information to his advantage and get his brothers to <em>actually leave him<em> _alone_, for once in his –

8.42. Oh.  
>'Oh, crikey,' he mutters – eliciting an overt snigger from Lucien's direction.<br>Today is Cas' first day at Truman High (his first high school in Indiana; yet another state to tick off his – non-existent – bucket list). Being the new kid is never fun – he should know, the amount of experience he's had – but this isn't what he's afraid of. You only have to do something so many times for both the fear and the intrigue to wear off, replaced by a bland predictability presumably not so different from the one people with normal lives experience.  
>Michael's eyes flick from Luce to Cas and back again, expression of pure disdain on his face.<br>'After something, are we, Mikey?'  
>Lucien's still smiling, still playing, but there's a hard edge to his tone. Michael's eyes narrow in response. Cas sits very still and stares at the wall, hoping that if he focuses long and hard enough he can block them out. (It's a technique he's been using, in vain, for years now – the current success rate is 0% – but it can't hurt to try.)<p>

Michael's eyes have that all too familiar glimmer in them, and for a second Cas thinks he's going to rise to the bait. In characteristically angelic fashion, he rises above it, simply turning away from Lucien's provocative smirk and facing Castiel as he addresses them both.  
>'School starts in twenty minutes.' He's speaking calmly, though clearly exerting much effort to do so. When neither of them respond, he sighs loudly and raises his voice, sounding almost like their father. 'GET READY!'<p>

What Cas is afraid of – more deeply with each passing day – is that his brothers will end up killing each other.  
>(Leaving him officially in charge of Gabe; no good can come of that.)<p>

Miraculously – especially considering Lucien's notoriously long showers –, they are only a few minutes late, Michael speeding so outrageously that Cas forgets to fear for his family's future and begins to fear for his life instead.  
>Michael hurries them out of the car and they all make their way to the headteacher's office – four spotty, scowling teenage boys, like a parody of the Perfect American Family. (Lucien and Michael certainly act like an old married couple – if one on the verge of divorce – sometimes.) The principal, Mrs Brumley, certainly looks bemused at the sight of them. Lucien raises an eyebrow in her direction – mocking, challenging – and her scowl is immediately smoothed over, replaced by a bright and cheery smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.<br>'Hello! You must be our new boys!' She looks behind them, notably flustered.  
>'Is everything okay, Madam?' Cas asks, before he can help himself. He just feels sorry for her, honestly; Monday mornings are tough on anyone, and she and her staff have the delights of both Gabe and Lucien to look forward to. As a family, their only saving grace is that they're almost guaranteed not to stick around for long.<br>Michael nudges him and Gabriel smirks (Lucien is too busy playing his favourite game of Making Innocent People Horrifically Uncomfortable for No Good Reason – currently by licking his lips and smiling semi-menacingly at a slight, brown-haired boy surely no older than fifteen – to acknowledge Cas' apparent indiscretion), but, to everyone's surprise, Mrs Brumley seems genuinely grateful.

'I'm fine, thankyou, hon. Is your father about?'  
>'Define 'father'.' Gabriel's eyes are twinkling, mouth curved into a mischievous grin. Michael breaks away from his embarrassment at Cas' faux pas – and existence in general, really – to shoot him a warning glare. They all know who the 'father' who called up to register was – the same who's spent the past however many years waking them up, cooking their meals and now driving them around – who turned away a scholarship at <em>Harvard University<em> for their sake (or their biological father's sake; 'the sake of the family', he said). And, clearly contrary to the principal's belief, he is standing right in front of her.

Mrs Brumley blinks, bemused and blissfully oblivious to all the silent conversations going on around her.  
>'I'm sorry, I don't follow.'<br>'Nothing, Miss,' Gabriel says – unconvincingly, under Michael's scrutinous gaze. 'Just playing with you. Our dad's away on business right now.'  
>Lucien lets out a long, hollow laugh – loud enough for the brown-haired boy (and probably the entire corridor), let alone Mrs Brumley herself, to hear. She is kind enough to ignore it.<p>

Forty-five minutes later, Cas is sitting in what should have been his second – but has clearly turned out to be his first – class of the day, minding his own business awaiting the unadulterated joys of Geometry when a boy (slightly taller, with a shaved head and a smirk to rival Gabriel's) saunters over, standing over him with a look of entitled expectance on his face.  
>Cas stays hunched up over his new workbook, pretending to be deeply engrossed in the (blank) page before him in the hope that the boy will be discouraged and leave. As a general rule, he doesn't bother making friends; with a family life and a nature like his, he finds it is very rarely worth the effort it requires.<br>The boy clears his throat loudly. Cas pretends not to hear for the first and second time, but on the third he is forced to look up.  
>(If there's one thing that interests him less than making friends, it's making enemies.)<p>

'Can I help you with something?'  
>He's trying to be polite, but the boy's smirk is replaced by a frown and his eyebrows furrow. Cas sighs inwardly, fighting the urge to bang his head against the desk.<br>_Great. Another faux pas.  
><em>'That was a genuine offer,' he clarifies quickly, awkwardly extending his hand to the other boy. 'I'm Castiel – Cas. You can call me Cas.'  
>The boy takes it after a moment's hesitation. He still looks a little bemused, but at least he's smiling now.<br>'Dean. Dean Winchester. Pleasure's all mine, but you're kind of in my seat, bro.'  
>'Oh!' Cas stands up so abruptly that the desk shakes, making such an almighty clatter that the whole room full of people turn around to stare. One girl – dark-haired, pale-skinned and pretty, but with an unnerving glint in her big brown eyes – outright laughs. Cas turns instinctively to glare at her and she shuts up – but the sneering smile on her face seems to say he hasn't heard the last of her.<p>

_Don't make enemies_, he reminds himself sternly. For such a generally good person (he likes to think, anyway), he really does seem to have an abnormal amount of difficulty sticking to that rule.

More unusually, it seems he may also be having trouble sticking to the whole no-friends thing. When he turns around, Dean is sitting down and patting the seat next to him, something like respect in his eyes.  
>'<em>Total<em> bitch,' he says, in a stage whisper, when Cas gratefully accepts his offer and sits back down (he manages to restrain from asking what Dean was making such a fuss about in the first place, knowing that the seat _right next to his_ was free). 'I would – I _have _– but there are some personalities no amount of hotness can compensate for, you know?'  
>Cas gives a slightly jilted nod.<br>'Uh-huh. Thanks, I'll make a note of that.'  
>Dean looks a little put out by that, and Cas is just wondering whether to clarify that he's being serious (<em>again<em>) when the other boy laughs and shakes his head.  
>'You're funny, man. I like you.'<p>

Their teacher finally wanders in a few minutes later – or rather, wheels in, as he's wheelchair-bound –, a gruff, bearded man probably in his mid-40s and not looking the part at all in a black cap and plaid shirt. He surveys them all with a look of disinterested derision, not saying a word. Cas is just starting to wonder if he's actually a teacher at all, and not just a crazy man in a wheelchair who's come in off the street – and, if this is the case, whether he has a gun and how freaked out/impressed/confused the other students will be if/when Cas puts his killer martial arts skills to the test – when he turns to face the board with a long sigh and writes, 'MR SINGER – GEOMETRY 1A'. Cas stands again (because that went _so_ _well_ last time) and clears his throat.

Mr Singer wheels back around to face the class – if only after underlining his name several times, so forcefully that the end of the chalk breaks off. Cas isn't one to jump to conclusions, but he's getting the distinct impression that Mr Singer is not exactly passionate about his work.  
>'Hello, Sir,' he says, and Mr Singer's eyebrows shoot up. 'I'm Castiel. I'm a new student here.'<br>'You are?' Cas nods. 'Congratulations. Now be an old dear and sit back down, would ya? Don't want to wreck your chances of fitting in by blocking your classmates' views of the wonders of glorified shapes.'  
>There are a few awkward snickers across the classroom. Cas isn't sure if Mr Singer is joking or not.<br>'I took a blank exercise book from the front of the classroom,' he continues uncertainly, 'I hope that won't be a problem.'  
>'Take all the blank exercise books you want, kid.' Mr Singer's voice is mocking, but it's not unkind. He notices with irritation that the girl from before is still staring at him, scowling now. She's not the only one, actually; even Dean looks a little embarrassed on his behalf. 'Just sit the hell down and let me get on with this godforsaken class. Sooner I do, sooner we can all be out of this dump.'<br>Cas sits down. 


	2. Chapter 2

Dean turns out to be in all but one of Cas' classes. He also turns out not to have many friends as such, though the girls clearly like him. Most bizarrely and fortunately of all, Dean actually seems to warm to him, finding his characteristic tactlessness and awkwardness more a source of amusement than anything.

'Number one, most of the guys at this school are jackasses,' Dean informs him, when he (rather bluntly) queries why it is that Dean doesn't seem to have any other friends to go around with. He's seen him talking to the brown-haired kid from the principal's office in the hallways, and he rarely misses an opportunity to flirt outrageously with anything in a skirt, but, after almost an entire day following Dean around, Cas still hasn't seen any signs of actual friendship with anyone but him (and the mystery brown-haired kid, but he's younger – a relative, maybe?). Dean beckons Cas over to an empty table at lunch and rarely talks to anyone else in classes, chipping in only to make the odd sarcastic comment that (unsurprisingly) earn him stern looks from the teachers and (confusingly) seem to leave half the girls positively swooning. 'Number two, it's not like I'll be here long enough to form beautiful lifelong friendships anyway. I've only been here three weeks and I bet you anything me and Sammy will be out of here by the end of the month. You move around enough, you stop bothering with the formalities –friendships, relationships, homework, actually _reading_ the books they set us. Not that I ever did those last two anyway...'  
>Cas gives a dry little laugh. 'Yeah, I know that feeling. Not that I ever really did the first two.'<br>Dean looks up from the textbook page he's pretending to read.  
>'You do?'<br>'Yes.' There's a prolonged silence then; it gradually becomes apparent that Cas is expected to elaborate. 'My father...moves around a lot. I don't anticipate us being here a long time either.'  
>'Us?'<br>'Me and my brothers.'  
>Dean whistles under his breath. 'You don't say. Guess we've got more in common than I thought.'<p>

By the end of his day, Cas has broken at least one (probably both) of his aforementioned rules. He is overwhelmingly content.

Halfway through his third day at Truman High, Castiel's English class is interrupted by a knock on the door.  
>'Come in!' The teacher barks, and the door swings open to reveal an unusually forlorn-looking Gabriel.<br>'Is Castiel Novak in this class?' His little brother has never sounded so small.  
>The teacher points him out. 'That the guy you're looking for?'<br>Gabriel nods. 'That's the one. Mrs Brumley wants to see him.'

Of course, it would be this school – the first in at least ten years where he thinks he might actually be happy, where he's actually started to make friends (_a_ friend, anyway) – where it all goes wrong.

Lucien is sat on the office chair in the principal's office, staring fixedly straight ahead while Michael paces back and forwards agitatedly, talking fast and furiously. Neither of them respond to their brothers' entrance. Mrs Brumley herself is nowhere to be seen.  
>'Lucie got into a fight,' Gabriel explains. He doesn't even attempt to conceal the respect in his voice. Having eventually acknowledged their presence, Michael clearly picks up on this, and his face undergoes the subtle transformation from looking like he might explode to looking like he definitely will.<br>'Oh,' says Castiel. What else is there to say?

'I don't know what's _wrong_ with you,' Michael says, still pacing, 'You can't behave like a spoilt child forever, Lucien. I know you want attention, but this isn't the way to go about getting it. Our father didn't raise us to be –'  
>'<em>Our father<em> didn't raise us at all!'  
>'You know how important his work is! You're so <em>selfish<em>!' Michael spits, and at that moment the door opens and Mrs Brumley walks in. As it does, Cas sees the brown-haired girl from his Geometry class – Meg, he's learnt her name is – sitting on a chair outside, evidently in trouble (probably caught torturing kittens or something; he's only known her two days, admittedly, but thus far at least his first impression of her is seeming pretty damn accurate). She catches his eye but then looks away, seeming almost embarrassed.

'Hello, boys,' Mrs Brumley says. She's smiling, but her tone is weary and Cas feels possibly even more sorry for her than before. With her arrival, Michael's demeanour changes completely, slipping seamlessly into Responsible Big Brother mode.  
>'I'm so sorry about this, Miss,' he says – but she's not looking at him.<br>'Gabriel, Castiel. Shouldn't you boys be in class?'  
>Cas shoots Gabe a questioning look. He shrugs.<br>'Luce sent that brown-haired kid to come get me. Assumed he was getting expelled or something – and I didn't want to miss out on the fun.' He might be a million miles away from saying it, but Cas can tell Gabriel's seriously worried right now – and it's infectious.  
>'Nobody's getting expelled,' says Mrs Brumley calmly. <em>Not yet, anyway<em>, is the unspoken appendage. 'You two can go back to class.'  
>'Oh, <em>please<em>, don't be too hasty,' Lucien speaks in a slow, deliberate drawl, like they're hardly worth the effort it takes. 'I wanted you boys here for a reason.'  
>'Stop this, Lucien.' Michael's voice is low and threatening. 'You heard the principal. Go back to class.'<br>Lucien continues as if he hasn't heard him, standing up and addressing them all theatrically.  
>'You are gathered here today to witness the official departure of Lucien Novak from the educational establishment. It's been a rollercoaster – we've laughed, we've cried, and I like to think we've all learnt a lot about ourselves. But it's time to say goodbye.'<br>They all stare at him in confusion, not even Michael speaking, until Lucien rolls his eyes and clarifies, 'I've decided to take some time off school. Like, forever.'

Then it all blows up.

After several minutes of 'heated debate' (read: screaming, shouting and even – in Lucien's case – throwing things), Lucien storms out. Michael goes to walk after him but is stopped by Mrs Brumley, who's somehow managed to stay incredibly calm in the face of insanity.  
>'Give him a few minutes to cool down, then I'll go and talk to him. If we still can't get through then we're seriously going to have to call your dad.'<br>For once in his life, Michael is too exhausted to protest.

A few minutes later, they hear the revving of a car engine, and Cas looks outside just in time to see the family's battered black Chevrolet speed away.  
>'<em>Shit<em>.' For one of the the first times in living memory, Michael completely loses his cool, banging his fist on the desk before rummaging frantically through his coat pockets. 'My damn keys – how did he – I'll kill him, I swear to god...'

A little later, Cas is sitting on the steps outside the school, mulling over the day's events and wondering whether he can bring himself to go to Geography (and whether anyone would really blame him for skipping). Apparently having no ethical qualms whatsoever about (potentially) getting his own brother arrested, Michael has gone to report a car theft at the police station with Mrs Brumley. Gabriel is off sulking, someplace that presumably isn't the Double Algebra class Castiel knows he's supposed to be in right now. God only knows where Lucien is.

He's just about made up his mind to go back to the flat and eat his feelings – Michael had made the brilliant mistake of leaving Gabriel responsible for food shopping that week, leaving them with a kitchen full of junk food and nothing (non-artificially) green in sight – when there's the sound of footsteps behind him and someone sits down beside him, wordlessly dangling a cigarette in front of his face.

'You look like you could use one.'  
>Meg.<p>

'What do you...' Her eyes narrow. _Don't make enemies_, he reminds himself. _It's not worth it _– even though, at this rate, they'll have been driven out of town by the end of the week anyhow. 'No, thankyou. I disagree with smoking.'  
>She rolls her eyes. 'Suit yourself, princess.'<br>She takes one out for herself, lights up and takes a long drag – and, honestly, Castiel's never smoked in his life, never even wanted to, but he's just _so fed up_ and it smells _so good_ and...and screw it.  
>Her lips curve into a smile as he reaches out to take one, holding it out for her to light. To his own surprise, he finds himself startled by just how pretty she is – how pretty she <em>could<em> be, especially, if she'd genuinely smile more often.

Cas tries to take a drag and chokes on it, whole body shaking. Meg shakes her head.  
>'You're <em>such <em>a sad case.'  
>After he chokes twice more, she finally takes pity – 'can't let you waste a good damn cigarette, can I?' – and shows him how to do it properly. It takes a while, but he gets the hang eventually, a strong and much needed sense of calm rush through him.<p>

(He decides he secretly kind of likes smoking – especially likes the way it feels to be rebelling against his dad, if only in the smallest of ways. He's always tried so hard to be a good son, tried so hard to _do the right thing_ – but right now, it just doesn't feel worth it.)

For a fairly long time, they sit in silence – that, all things considered, should definitely be less comfortable than it is.  
>Then Meg says, 'Rough day?' Cas just grimaces. 'Right. Stupid question.' She stubs out her cigarette and flicks it to the side. 'Families suck.'<br>'Family is the most important thing in the world,' says Castiel He doesn't mean to; he's had it drilled into him so much by Michael and – on the increasingly rare occasions he actually deigns to grace them with his presence – their father that it just comes automatically. 'Sorry,' he adds awkwardly, 'Thankyou for the cigarette.'  
>Meg shrugs again. 'Sure. Be a good boy and don't talk back to me again and I might let you have one more.'<br>'No, thankyou,' Cas feels his tone lacks conviction, but he also feels he should at least _try_ to be a good son. 'I still disagree with smoking – on a number of ethical, social, and obviously health-based grounds. But thankyou.'  
>Meg stands up to leave and he thinks he must have offended her, but she's chuckling to herself as she gathers up her things and starts to walk away.<br>''Course you do. See you round, princess.'

Cas watches her disappear, quietly baffled by the whole encounter. When she's out of sight, he stands slowly with a sigh. He's sort of lost his appetite, honestly – whether that's the effect of the smoking, Meg, or a bit of both, he can't be sure –, but he also feels possibly even less like facing classes than before (and that family-sized pack of Doritos won't eat itself) so home it is. As he walks out through the school gates, there's a part of him that can't help but wonder if he'll ever do so again – if him and his brothers will even be _allowed_ back here, after all the hassle they've caused and are continuing to cause less than a week after arriving. If he'll ever even see Dean (or Meg) again.

The thought makes him sadder than it should.


	3. Chapter 3

When Cas finally forces himself to make his way home, it is to a quiet kind of chaos that he arrives. Michael is pacing frantically back and forth, repeatedly tapping numbers and muttering obscenities into their battered shared phone (Lucien has his own, of course, courtesy of some rich kid from their last school that he either sweet talked or – more likely – threatened into reluctantly 'loaning' him the necessary money). Gabriel lies slumped across the one piece of living room furniture they've acquired, a hideous mauve leather structure somewhere between a sofa and a chair, shoving cheetos in the vague direction of his mouth and looking possibly more fed up than Cas has ever seen him. As well as the steadily building pile of cheetos on the floor, the room is covered with clothes and scattered papers, remnants of Luce's hasty getaway. The money pot on the desk has been left open, encircled by carelessly discarded loose change. One momentary peek reveals that only a few one dollar and two twenty dollar bills remain amongst a sea of coins – barely enough to get them through the week.

Cas doesn't need to ask to know where the rest has gone.

He doubts anyone's even noticed he's not been there – and, for once, he wouldn't blame them –, but when Michael finally clocks him, staring blankly around the ruined room, he lectures him like the search party are already on their rounds.  
>'Where have you <em>been<em>, Castiel?! What were you _thinking_, running off like that after Lucie's little game? You really don' think I've got enough to deal with as it is, trying to keep the school on good terms and track down our ridiculous brother, and clean up this mess, and-'  
>He stops suddenly, inhaling through his nose like a sniffer dog ominously ready to pounce.<br>'Oh, dear god, _please_ tell me you haven't been _smoking_.'

This is the part where he apologises.

'I'm sorry, Michael. I was stupid and childish. It won't happen again.'  
>This is what he says.<p>

Always. This is always what he says. He opens his mouth, gearing up for the inevitable. He falters, breath catching in his throat; the words don't come out.

Michael is still watching him, silently and expectantly. When Cas doesn't respond immediately, he folds his arms across his chest and glowers.  
>'Well? What have you got to say for yourself?'<p>

Cas isn't sure what it is that gets into him now. He isn't sure why he's so angry. It's not like he approves of smoking – not like he's ever planning on doing it again, no matter what the girl with the pretty eyes and the scary smile has to say. On the contrary: he disagrees with a smoking, for a number of social, ethical, and (obviously) health-related reasons.

So maybe it's just stupidity, or petty teenage rebellion, or _something_; he doesn't know.

All Castiel Novak knows is that whatever the hell gets into him at this moment feels an awful lot like bravery.

'You know what, Michael?' Cas isn't quite shouting, but he's close. Michael's eyes widen and even Gabriel looks up from his food in curious surprise. Cas never raises his voice – not against his brothers, not against _Michael_.  
>'I have had it up to <em>here –<em>' He raises his left hand to the level of his face in demonstration. ' – with you! With all of you! Why do _you_ care where I was? You never even notice if I'm there! You never even notice anything unless it threatens your place as Daddy's perfect little boy!'  
>Michael's eyes darken. 'That's enough, Castiel.'<br>'When do _I _get to decide what's enough? I'm nearly seventeen! Who cares if I talk back, or stay out late, or smoke? Dad sure as hell doesn't! Why are we always trying to please him when he's never even _there_?'

He stops, breathlessly awaiting Michael's response.

'Go to your room,' his brother says finally, quietly severe. 'You may be nearly seventeen, little brother, but you are still very much a child. Your little outburst just proved that.'  
>'Gladly!' Castiel shoots back, grabbing his bag and heading towards the stairs. He is still full of thunder – unsure why, but not quite ready to let it go. 'Assbutt.'<br>He mutters the last bit, already halfway up the stairs. He is neither expecting nor desiring a response.

Unfortunately, he has failed to take Michael's super-sonic hearing into account.

'What did you just call me?!'  
>Cas takes a deep breathing, summoning all of his courage (or stupidity, or whatever).<br>'I _said_, ASSBUTT!'

'_Assbutt_?!'  
>'You've repeated that seven times now, Dean,' Cas says, trying to remain patient, 'And yes, that is still what I said.'<br>Dean snorts with laughter, taking a long slurp of chocolate milkshake and shaking his head in bemusement.  
>'Well, you sure told him. Remind me not to get on the wrong side of you, yeah?'<br>'It's not _funny_, Dean.' His friend looks unconvinced; in fact, he looks downright mocking, and Cas feels a flicker of yesterday's fire start to burn at the back of his throat.  
>'It is pretty funny, though,' Dean says, 'I mean, I get you stood up to your brother, and dude, that's good for you, but – <em>assbutt<em>?!'  
>To say that Cas is beginning to regret telling Dean this story would be quite possibly the greatest understatement known to man.<br>'It was a pivotal moment of my life thus far,' he replies, too distracted by Dean's perpetual snickering even to focus on the food on his plate (and he's _starving_, not having realised before how uncomfortably reliant he is on Michael's culinary skills for even the simplest of meals).'I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't make fun of me for it anymore.'  
>Honestly, he's a good mind to stomp right out of the cafeteria and call <em>Dean<em> an assbutt too – but he's a horrible feeling that might backfire (besides which, he could do without losing his one and only friend).

'Hey, princess,' Meg saunters past them, tray in hands and smirk as wide as ever. Still, he notices a softness in her expression, partially recognisable from their encounter on the stairs but definitely not from the classroom. One of his only _two_ friends, maybe. 'Good to see you stuck around.'

After she leaves, Dean stays gawping after her for a frankly uncomfortable amount of time. Cas waits patiently for as long as he can manage. Then –  
>'Please stop staring, Dean.'<br>'Meg?!' Dean shakes his head again, expression even more bemused than before, and Cas is momentarily thankful that his friend's found something even more worthy of scornful disbelief than _assbutt. _  
>'<em>Meg<em>?' he asks again.  
>'Yes, Dean, that was-'<br>'You and _Meg_?!'  
>'Are you playing some kind of game to see how many times you can repeat the same things over and over again before I hit you?' Cas cuts in, surprising himself for the second time in two days. He isn't used to doing that. 'Because I feel like you should know that you're getting dangerously close.'<p>

Dean's eyes narrow. Cas is briefly but intensely worried that this is it – that he's blown it, like he knew it would before it even begun. That Dean will stand up and leave, walk out without another word – ignore him in classes, snigger at him in the corridors, maybe even start rumours. Or worse – he'll punch him. It's not that Castiel can't fight – it's not that at all –, but he'd really rather not. Speaking from experience, being _the weird kid who broke that guy's nose_ really isn't all that much better than being just _the weird kid._

It's more than that, too – more than the simple desire to avoid booking a return ticket to isolation, to social leper-hood (as well-adjusted as he had become to that lifestyle, it sucks). It's Dean. He likes Dean, a lot, for all their differences and for all his mockery. He doesn't want to lose him before their friendship's even properly begun.

Cas opens his mouth – and then, just before he can blurt out some excruciatingly pathetic plea ('I'm sorry, please don't go, I've never had a best friend before'), Dean's mouth breaks into a grin and he lets out another guffaw of laughter.

'Okay, okay, I get it. Assbutt. Meg. Pivotal moments all around.'

Cas is so relieved he forgets to be mad and laughs too, loudly and borderline hysterically.

It's nice having friends.

(Still, he could swear Dean is weirdly off with him for the rest of the day – and never moreso than in English, when they're told to get into groups of three and Meg shoots him an inviting grin that has him inviting her to join the pair of them before he even knows what he's doing.)

When Cas gets home that afternoon – normal time; he seriously considers delaying for the sake of winding Michael up, but ultimately realises he has neither the nerve nor the malice required –, the living room has been cleaned and Michael, though on the phone _again_ and with big dark bags under his eyes, is looking unnervingly calm. Once he gets off the phone, he beckons Cas over and calmly asks him what he wants for tea – and, for reasons unbeknown to the both of them, Cas is so touched by this that he damn near bursts into tears.

He is filled suddenly with an unfamiliar and overwhelming rush of affection for his brother – for his exhausted, vigilant, dedicated brother – his brother who could get into any college he wants at the drop of a hat, in spite of all those classes he's missed to take care of them, but who chooses to stick around all the same. It's not _Michael's_ fault that their dad's never there; it's not Michael's fault that he's stressed, or that with Lucien causing trouble and Gabriel being a general nuisance and the never-ending struggle to keep food on the table and the authorities from the door Cas is often something of an embarrassing afterthought.

'Castiel?' Michael repeats, a hint of annoyance in his voice now. He may have more than his fair share of virtues, but patience certainly isn't one of them. 'What do you want to eat? And _please_, for the love of god, do _not_ say pop tarts.'  
>Cas is momentarily confused – but his desire to enquire disappears at the sight of Gabriel's impish grin, his younger brother standing in the hall, leaning through the doorway and eyeing the exchange with an alarmingly Lucien-esque mixture of amusement and contempt.<p>

'That would be ridiculous,' Cas says simply (honestly). Michael smiles in relief. Gabriel scowls, sticks his tongue out and turns away. 'I'll cook something. To make up for...you know.'

'Assbutt?' Gabriel, reappearing without warning, offers helpfully. Castiel hadn't realised it was possible, but his youngest brother actually looks even more amused than Dean.

Thankfully, Michael does not.

'Go to your room, Gabriel,' he says simply, 'No arguing. I know full well you've got homework to be getting on with.'

If looks could kill, Michael would be on the floor right now. As they can't, however, Gabriel is at something of a loss, and, after several moments of intense and angry staring, is forced to admit defeat and slope reluctantly up the stairs.

Michael stares after him, shaking his head as if in disbelief. (Having spent almost his entire life as the effective guardian of _Lucien_, Castiel wouldn't have thought such an emotion were even possible anymore.) Then he turns his attention back to Cas.

'That'd be great, Castiel.' His voice is so gentle and so earnest it's actually quite unnerving – so gentle and earnest Cas is half expecting him to launch into some ridiculous tirade about what a _great kid_ he is, and that he's no longer only worrying about _himself_ bursting into tears.

This being the case, it's actually a pretty massive relief when the phone rings and Michael jumps, snapping straight out of his short-lived sweetness and back into Militant Big Brother Mode.

Cas' eyes flicker over to the clock – unnecessarily, he knows, as Michael's internal clock is quite consistently in sync with their father's life. How anything could be in sync with something so mysterious is just one of Michael's many inexplicable abilities.

It's 5pm, exactly, of course.

'There are just two things we can rely on Daddy dearest for,' Lucien has said on more than one occasion, his tone positively dripping with bitterness. 'One – to never, ever be there when we need him, to always put himself first and generally just consistently go that extra mile to be the worst father in existence.'  
>('That's three things, really,' Cas had pointed out once, getting glares from both Luce and Michael for his trouble.)<br>'And number two – to ring at 5pm on the dot, each and every Tuesday, whether we want him to or not, and bless his sons with a good five minutes of his vocal presence before he clears right off again. Lucky, lucky us.'

You could say what you wanted about their father (though you'd be hard pressed to think of something Lucien hasn't already said, probably numerous times and in much more colourful language), but nobody could deny he was a man of precision.

Michael's words come out in a rush as he moves towards the loudly vibrating phone, and, though his voice is now completely devoid of emotion – like a sergeant barking military orders, _his father's son_, Lucien would say –, Castiel can tell he's panicking.

Brother's intuition, or something.

'Dad doesn't know about Lucien yet, don't want to worry him unnecessarily, I'll keep trying to get in touch with Lucien and sort this out and if and when I think it's right I'll let him know. If he asks where he is, he's out with friends and he's settling into school well – not _too_ well, we don't want Dad getting suspicious, but well enough for him, making friends and going to classes at least. You both know I don't like lying to our father if I can help it, but circumstances are exceptional and if I find out either you or Gabriel has told him anything without permission there _will_ be consequences. Understand?'

'You won't tell him about the smoking, will you?' Cas asks, feeble-sounding even to his own ears. Michael looks at him with pure, unadulterated contempt, and picks up the phone without even dignifying him with a response.

(Back to normal, then.)


	4. Chapter 4

'I've been invited to a party.'

Cas announces it out of the blue, in the middle of their 'family' (minus Lucien, and, obviously, their father) dinner. The three of them are all sat hunched around the wooden table in their cramped little kitchen, Michael insisting upon them breaking their well-established family tradition of TV dinners and 'actually behaving _respectably_ for once'. Since Lucien's disappearing act Michael has become more uptight than ever, constantly snapping and snarking about the slightest bit of mess, the faintest hint of backchat on the part of Cas or Gabriel. Castiel knows his brother is overcompensating – he knows he's freaking out, that he still hasn't heard anything from or about Lucien and he knows he still hasn't been brave or stupid or selfish enough to tell their dad about it. It's because of this that he has been doing his best to stay out of Michael's way for the past week or so, spending half his free time out with Dean and the majority of the half that he's home cooped up in his room doing homework, or in the spare room, watching painfully slow downloads of trashy TV on the family computer.

(There's also the fact that Michael is damn awful company lately – and Gabriel is, well, _Gabriel_ – but Cas prefers to view his motivations in a more altruistic light.)

For a moment there is no response. Gabriel shoves an unnaturally large slice of chicken into his mouth and chews contentedly, either oblivious or simply impartial to what Castiel has just said. Michael, on the other hand, is simply staring at his plate, poking at a piece of broccoli with his fork as if suspicious of its intentions.

'Next Saturday,' Castiel continues. 'At my friend Jack's house.'  
>Castiel doesn't really know Jack. In most contexts, he wouldn't really say they were friends; he's positive Jack wouldn't. 'My friend Jack' just sounds better than 'my friend Dean's acquaintance Jack, who he doesn't really like and I don't like much either but apparently he has a nice house and access to a steady stream of liquor'. Tact may not quite be his strong point, but even he can figure that one out.<br>Michael finally looks up, a look of pure – and quite unjustified – contempt on his face.  
>'No,' he says simply. 'I know what goes on at high school parties, Castiel. This family has enough on its hands as it is without-'<br>He is interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell. Sharp, shrill and unexpected, the noise makes Castiel jump, and is even enough to temporarily make Michael stop ranting and Gabriel stop eating.  
>Michael frowns.<br>'Are you expecting _friends_, Castiel?' He says the word _friends_ like it's an affliction, like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Michael was never unpopular at school – on the contrary, he was always respected –, but Cas gets the general impression that both he and his other brothers see friendship without ulterior motive as a baffling inconvenience at best.  
>'I wish,' Castiel mutters. Michael shoots him A Look before turning to Gabriel, who shrugs and takes another massive bite of chicken in response.<br>'I don't really have any _friends_. Enemies, sure. Followers, maybe,' he says casually, once he's finally done chewing. 'Hey, Mike, I'm still hungry. What's for dessert?'  
>'Don't call me-'<p>

The doorbell rings again as if to spite Michael, interrupting his snark for the second time in five minutes. He turns and glowers in its direction; Cas struggles to suppress a smile.

'Guess I should be getting that, then.' Then, as he stands and begins to make his way towards the door – 'No dessert tonight, Gabriel.'  
>'No parties, no dessert,' Castiel mutters, half under his breath, 'No happiness, no <em>fun<em>.' Michael is halfway across the hall and well out of earshot by now, but Gabriel gives an appreciative little snicker, and Cas feels weirdly proud. He's not used to making people laugh (at least not intentionally).

The doorbell rings again, and Castiel's eldest brother lets out a long sigh of annoyance.  
>'Yes, I'm <em>coming<em>!'

Cas hears the door swing open, followed by an uncharacteristic little yelp of surprise from Michael. Him and Gabriel exchange curious looks. Cas strains his ears, but he can't for the life of him make out what the person on the other side of the door is saying. He's fairly sure it's a female voice, and momentarily he wonders – hopes? – if it might be Meg, but then he quickly comes to his senses and realises that of course it's not, that Michael wouldn't have reacted that way for someone he didn't even know and it's not like he's ever told Meg his address anyway. Besides, they haven't spoken in nearly two weeks; Dean is like a well-meaning but misguided guard dog, snarling and scowling in her direction whenever she comes near. Meg may not be the type to frighten easily, but it seems she's also not the type to go to special efforts to maintain a friendship; the slightest hint of deterrence from Dean and she's gone.

'Yes, well, this sure is a surprise,' Michael is saying, and Castiel's curiosity is piqued beyond belief. As for Gabriel, he is already up out of his seat and gradually edging his way into the hallway, careful not to be seen. For once, Cas thinks, he has the right idea, and he promptly shoves his plate aside and follows his younger brother's lead. 'Dad's away at the moment. On duty, you know...he'll be back soon. Besides which, I'm nineteen now.' Michael's voice is positively shaking. Cas wonders who on earth it is that has reduced his big, bold, strong, capable brother to this mess, and reckons he'd quite like to shake their hand.  
>He doesn't have to wonder long.<br>'Oh, that's quite alright, dear.'  
>Cas freezes. He'd known that voice – that posh, plumy, faux-English accent – anywhere. From the look on Gabriel's face as he turns to catch his brother's eye, he'd guess he does too.<p>

'Auntie Imogen,' Gabriel stage-whispers, 'An intriguing development. Wonder what _she's_ doing here?'  
>'We haven't seen Auntie Imogen in over...seven and a half years,' Cas frowns, doing the calculations in his head. 'How did she even find us? Something isn't right here.'<br>Gabriel laughs. Cas wishes – not for anything like the first time – that he was more like Gabriel, so effortlessly able to see the funny side of absolutely everything.  
>'Excellent. Could use a bit of excitement since Lucie left.' With that, Gabriel turns on his heel and heads towards the door, a big smile painted on his face. 'Auntie <em>Imogen<em>!' he exclaims as he does, continuing undeterred even after Michael shoots him a warning glare.  
>'Gabriel!' His aunt's voice raises to an audible level with her exclamation of joy. While Michael is the usually undisputed star of the family, Gabriel has always inexplicably been her favourite. 'Let me get a good look at you! Oh, you're so <em>grown up<em>. And so dashing – got your mother's looks, thank goodness.' She cranes her head around the door and catches sight of Castiel, hovering uncertainly in the hallway. 'Castiel! Come here, let me see you, too. Gosh, it's been so long, all so grown-up...where's Lucien?'  
>Castiel and Gabriel both open their mouths – and then promptly close them, almost simultaneously thinking better of it.<br>'Can we help you with something, Imogen?' Michael asks coolly, staring stony-faced into her eyes. Imogen blinks, looking almost hurt.  
>'Just to see my favourite nephews! And tell you all about my European travels, naturally. Is this a bad time?'<p>

Michael pauses for a second, his hand hovering on the door. Castiel can practically see the cogs working in his brain, considering the relative merits of shutting the door in Imogen's face right away vs inviting her in for a cup of tea ('Nothing like _British_ standard, dears'). Tempting as the former is, the long-term repercussions are unlikely to be worth it. The fact that Imogen is their mother's sister, and has never been on the best of terms with their father, is pretty much irrelevant; they both know that won't stop her from running to him at the first opportunity to 'raise concerns about' (read: tell tales on) his offspring. Normally they could deal with that – a half-hearted scolding from their father was a small price to pay to avoid the often insufferable company of their well-meaning but infuriating aunt – but, on this particular occasion, there is a not at all insignificant chance that she would also bring the unexplained absence of Lucien to his attention.

Michael is a more than competent liar, but their father is a special agent (and a good one at that); there's not a lot that gets past him.

Besides, if he did have any doubts as to the veracity of Michael's claims, they all know he'd only have to ask Castiel to put his mind at ease one way or another. Castiel is a horrible liar.

'Come on in,' Michael says at last, after an uncomfortably long pause. 'I think we have coffee and biscuits in the kitchen.'  
>Clearly undeterred by Michael's obvious lack of enthusiasm, Imogen positively beams.<br>'I thought you'd never ask!'

Two hours and three cups of coffee later, and even Cas's caffeine rush does not compensate for the fact that he has just about had enough of Auntie Imogen and her stories. Even Gabriel, her pet, is no longer bothering to display even his usual condescending, bemused facade of interest, openly ignoring her and tapping away at his phone instead.  
><em>To who?,<em> Cas wonders, momentarily stumped by the prospect of another of his family having already made Actual Real Life Friends - but when he sneaks a glance, he is greeted not by friendly words but by row after row of…sweets?

'Candy crush,' Gabriel informs him helpfully, with only a slight roll of the eyes to signify how hopelessly out of his touch his elder brother is with the adolescent world. (_At least I have actual friends_, Cas thinks, but doesn't even dream of saying, afraid the retort won't bother Gabe and even more afraid that it will.) Unfortunately, Imogen mishears and before Cas can press for further details of this perplexing new invention he is interrupted by her gushing.  
>'What's this I hear?! My little Gabey has a CRUSH?!'<p>

Needless to say, it is a very long afternoon.

Imogen is just about on her way out when the doorbell rings again. Michael's eyebrows shoot up, the corners of his mouth turn even further downwards, and he just looks so all round fed up that Cas actually finds himself feeling sorry for him. 

'I'll get it!' Imogen cries excitedly, and rushes to the door, seeming (hopefully) temporarily to have forgotten that she doesn't actually live there. Castiel doesn't even need to look at Michael to feel the burning heat from his glare.  
>'Hellooo!' Imogen's shrill voice permeates through the walls. Out of Castiel's sight, but not of his awareness, Michael grits his teeth.<p>

Cas hears a gruff, unfamiliar voice answer his aunt's, talking for a couple of minutes but in what seem to his ears like rather short, blunt sentences. Try as he might to focus, he can't make out any of the actual words, and hasn't the faintest idea what's actually going on – only that Imogen has been quiet for the longest time period in the three hours she's been there, and quiet possibly also the longest period since she first learnt to talk. (_Not until I was five!_ As she'd told them, repeatedly – but she'd never stopped making up for it since.)  
>Michael, also craning his neck and straining his ears to listen to no obvious success, eventually stands, a decidedly uneasy expression actually replacing the frown that has as of late become a semi-permanent feature of his face.<br>'Wait here, boys. I'm going to go and see what's going on.'  
>'Is everything okay?' Gabriel, sounding genuinely concerned for once. 'Who <em>is<em> that? It's not Dad, is it?'  
>'I'm sure everything's fine. Just wait here, okay?' Michael swans off without waiting for a response. Gabriel catches Cas's eyes and pulls an exaggerated, mocking face of disgruntlement. It's enough to make them both laugh, but not enough to break the tension – to ease the feeling that something isn't right. The gruff man has stopped talking now, and Cas thinks Michael is saying something, but he can't make out what or even any kind of expression in his tone. This is quite unlike Michael, who's had a booming and authoritative voice ever since he was a kid ('the voice of a leader', according to their father – 'a fascist dictator, sure', according to the ever charming Lucien).<p>

They both sit in silence for a couple of minutes, before Gabriel lets out a little snort of disgruntlement and mutters, 'Screw this,', standing and making his way towards the door. Castiel is left with the dilemma of going after him, beseeching him to stay, or (his most tried, tested and trusted approach) simply doing nothing. It doesn't take him long to decide; a couple of seconds later, he is following Gabriel out of the door and into the hall, where Michael, Imogen and an unfamiliar man – probably in his late 30s, dark-haired and rugged-looking – are stood in a conspiratorial circle.

Michael is the only one to notice them coming, eyes flickering from Cas to Gabe and then back again. Gabriel keeps walking confidently forward, seeming blissfully unaware of how tense the mood is, but Cas holds back, awaiting Michael's reproach more expectantly than fearfully. It never comes. His brother just nods in recognition, his movement alerting the other two members of the group to their presence. The dark-haired man and Imogen both turn to face them. The man's expression gives away nothing, but Imogen looks outright horrified.  
>It is then that Castiel realises that Michael no longer looks angry – that he doesn't even look bored, or fed-up, or annoyed, as he is a lot of the time anyway and most definitely when Aunt Imogen is around. He just looks exhausted, battered, drained – and, quite honestly, downright miserable.<p>

It is then that Castiel starts to feel truly afraid.

He looks from Michael's face to Imogen's, then back again and wants nothing more in the world than to turn and run away, to climb into bed and lie in the dark, his head under his pillow for long enough for it to stop spinning. He wants to place his fingers in his ears and block out the words he already half knows he is going to hear, to mutter sweet nothings and empty consolations like his mother and his father (and especially Michael) used to when he was little. He wants to curl up in a ball and hide away, safe from the outside world, just for as long as it takes for him to convince himself that there is nothing out there to be feared.  
>(Possibly forever, then.)<p>

Cas does none of this. As is being mentioned with perplexing frequency these days, he is _nearly seventeen_, for god's sake.

More importantly, he's a Novak.

Instead, he extends his hand to the stranger – smiling in an emotionless, polite sort of a way – and says, 'Castiel Novak, sir. I don't believe I've had the pleasure of making your acquaintance?'  
>Gabriel groans loudly. To his and Castiel's mutual confusion and alarm, Michael doesn't even flinch.<br>The man gives a small, solemn smile. For the first time, Castiel sees a flicker of emotion – a flicker of regret – in his eyes.  
>'Hey, Castiel. I'm a friend of your dad's.'<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

'Wasn't expecting to hear from you.'

Meg – who, it has long been established, is simply far too cool and mysterious to say 'hello' in the traditional way – is suddenly on the swing next to him, an unlit cigarette in her hand. Castiel is beginning to seriously worry about the amount Meg smokes. He should really say something (some other time, maybe).

'Yeah, well. I wasn't expecting to be hearing from me either.' Meg raises her eyebrows, gently mocking, and Castiel blinks, confused. 'I mean…I wasn't expecting to be…speaking. To you. No offence, but Dean is definitely not your biggest fan.'  
>'And you?'<br>'Me?'  
>'Are you?' Meg smirks, cocking her head questioningly to one side. 'My biggest fan?'<br>Castiel turns away from her, facing straight ahead. Her sly, semi-mocking comments have always caught him off guard; on this occasion, though, he simply doesn't have the time for them.  
>'That's a pointless question. My knowledge of our classmates' opinions of you is far from comprehensive – and even if it wasn't, positive regard is an impossibly difficult thing to measure. Besides,' He turns back to face her, and is surprised by how uncharacteristically serious she looks. 'I have considerably more pressing issues on my mind at present.'<br>Meg nods solemnly. 'Don't we all? Cigarette?'  
>'No. Thankyou,' Cas adds, as an afterthought, because complete disapproval of smoking aside he is still nothing if not polite. Also, the mood he's in, to say he hasn't completely ruled it out for today would be an understatement.<br>'Welcome. So…' Meg pauses to light a cigarette, holding it between her teeth in a way that should look ridiculous but is somehow infuriatingly not. 'Do you want to talk about it? Or just get seriously fucked up?'  
>Cas eyes her sort of suspiciously.<br>'I don't…want to talk about it…' he says slowly, carefully. 'I've never drunk alcohol, if that's what you're referring to. At least not in the quantities you're implying.'

Meg's devilish grin returns, and it is almost a relief.  
>'First time for everything, kid.'<p>

Cas thinks about protesting, but almost immediately thinks better of it.

He really, _really_ doesn't want to talk – or think, or deal with Michael or Gabriel or the truth or anything.  
>'Alcohol it is, then,' he says, so gravely that Meg outright laughs. (At him, he supposes, but finds he doesn't mind; he likes the sound of it.) 'You know somewhere that supplies to minors, I presume?'<br>Meg laughs again, though this time sort of humourlessly.  
>'Not a problem, Castiel. <em>Definitely<em> not a problem.'

Castiel follows Meg to a bus stop, and they spend several minutes waiting in comfortable shared silence. Cas is thankful Meg is not the kind of person to rush to fill a silence, particularly not by asking about his interests and hobbies (curious as he is about hers – assuming drinking, smoking and looking cool don't quite occupy _all_ of her free time). Cas is, he believes, a quite tediously boring person; the only interesting thing about him is his family, a topic that is sensitive at best and downright off-limits right now. The 40A bus draws up and Meg turns and sticks her arm out, watching in amusement as Cas very awkwardly follows suit.  
>'Oh, come <em>on<em>. Don't tell me you've never even got a _bus_ before, princess.'  
>'No! I mean, yes, I mean, I have. Plenty of times, thankyou.' Cas protests, a little too quickly and a lot too defensively. Meg rolls her eyes but doesn't comment. He <em>has<em> got the bus before, actually, thankyou very much – not for several years, and always in his brothers' company, _but still_.

'Maple Avenue,' she says, her voice lazy and almost contemptuous. Cas adds a 'please' on her behalf, and the driver prints two tickets and pushes them through without looking up.

It's an interesting street name – sweet, both literally and figuratively, and really not very _Meg_ at all.  
>'Maple Avenue?' he repeats, once they're sat down near the back of the bus. 'There's a liquor store there?'<br>'Sure, you could say that.'

During the journey – which is not very long, but Meg has her headphones in and is thus unavailable for conversation and Cas has long grown sick and tired of thinking about his family –, Cas entertains himself by mentally conjuring up vague images of what a place called Maple Avenue might look like. He imagines it as a family neighbourhood – a safe, white-picket-fence kind of a place, rows of light panelled houses with luscious green gardens, towering trees and children playing peacefully on the streets. With this image firmly cemented in his mind, he is naturally surprised and a little put out when the bus gradually draws to a standstill and Meg stands, blinking out of his daydreams and stumbling onto the street to find himself in a bleak and scarcely populated neighbourhood, the houses and inhabitants of which are more rundown even than any of his former homes.

'_This_ is Maple Avenue?!' he blurts out, careless, and Meg laughs and says, 'What were you expecting, Sugartown?'  
><em>Well, kind of<em>.  
>'Of course not. It just seems a peculiar name, is all.' He turns to look around the area, ostensibly searching for the store but primarily trying to hide his embarrassment. He sees nothing but ancient and dilapidated houses, with one particularly grim looking block of flats at the end of the road that looks alarmingly like it is leaning to one side. The only building that looks relatively shop-like is very clearly out of business, the sidewalk ahead of it scatted in glass from where the windows have been broken in and red paint (at least, Cas hopes that's what it is) streaked across the door and what remains of the glass, accompanied by an array of graffiti that seems focused predominantly on rather crude depictions of the male anatomy. Just in case there was any doubt left in his or anyone's mind, a large sign is hanging from an upper window, presumably just out of reach of the vandalsbored teenagers who reduced the majority of the building to the state it is in now: 'OUT OF BUSINESS'.  
>'Where's the liquor store?'<br>Meg gets a sly, secretive sort of smile on her face, sort of intimidating even by her standards. Cas finds himself wondering if he's really made the most sensible move here, getting on a random bus and blindly following some creepy girl he barely actually knows to the middle of nowhere in the pursuit of intoxication. Maybe she's planning to kill him, and (probably correctly) thought this would be the safest spot; that'd be just his luck, accidentally befriending a psychopath.  
>'You said there was a liquor store.'<br>'I said you _could_ say that,' Meg begins to walk away, confidently striding in the direction of the ruined former shop. Unsurely, and against his better judgement, Cas begins to follow her. 'Pay attention, princess. Listening saves lives, you know.'  
>'So you lied?' Cas hates liars. His dad has been lying to them on and off for their entire lives – Michael, too, though he can't really be held entirely to blame – and he hates it, more than anything.<p>

'I was selective with the truth,' Meg corrects him, pulling a key out of her pocket.

'Dishonesty by omission is still dishonesty.'  
>Meg just rolls her eyes.<br>'Get off your high horse, would you? Or I won't share.'  
>She turns the key inside a lock and gives a tentative shove. The door gradually creeps open, creaking loudly. Cas shoots Meg a look of alarm.<br>'Are we...breaking in?'  
>Meg laughs.<br>'With a key? Sure.'

The door finally opens all the way, and Cas tentatively follows Meg inside, his nose filling as he does with the all too familiar smell of damp. In its seemingly neglected state, the interior of the establishment pretty much equals the exterior. A few dust-covered shelves, empty aside from one stack of distinctly unappetizing tinned food, are the only indicators that this was ever anything vaguely resembling a business.

'Mom! Dad!' Meg says it hesitantly, testing the waters. She raises her voice and tries again. There is no response, the whole building so quiet you could positively hear a pin drop. Meg shrugs, lips curving up into a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.  
>'As I thought.'<br>'Where's the liquor?' Cas asks.  
>Considering the bluntness of the question, he's surprised at how touched looks Meg by it - but, then again, she is an altogether surprising person.<br>'Now there's a girl after my own heart. Follow me.'

Half an hour later, Cas is drunk.  
>Correction: half an hour later, Cas <em>realises<em> he's drunk. He has, as also realised at this point, actually been drunk for quite some time.

Despite having drunk considerably more considerably quicker than him, for the most part Meg appears - through Cas's hazy vision - to have remained quite remarkably sober. She is laughing at everything he says and does, which is suspicious, but probably has more to do with his own intoxication than hers. (As does the fact that there are currently at least three and a half of her.)  
>'Oh my god,' Cas briefly tunes back into reality to hear Meg scoffing, and wonders vaguely how it is that she can make three simple words both so contemptuous and so attractive.<br>'I don't normally drink,' Cas says, by way of explanation.

Meg laughs and says, 'you don't say' - voice dripping with sarcasm, but not  
>without affection.<p>

They end up at some stupid sleazy bar, and Cas's head is still spinning and he's sure it's obvious as can be that he's drunk, even moreso that he's underage, but the guy on the door seems to recognise Meg and nods them in without a second thought. Inside, the music is so loud that Cas can barely even hear his jumbled thoughts, let alone talk, and he decides that he much prefers drinking in Meg's basement to drinking in bars. (It's cheaper, too; before he knows what he's doing, he's been roped into buying both of them drinks at $8 apiece, Meg laughing and urging him 'not to be cheap' while he grumbles.)

He opens his mouth to ask Meg to leave, but finds his voice is drowned out by the music. So much for socialising: talking is quite literally impossible here. He wonders how it is that nobody else has noticed this very obvious design flaw, and why it doesn't seem to be bothering any of the other attendees as much as it is him. There are a few couples stood at the bar and in corners who seem to be communicating in some way - but they're stood incredibly close together, putting their mouths to each other's ears in a way that even Cas knows is meant to be seductive and, therefore, wholly inappropriate to his situation. Besides that most of the couples' mouths are otherwise engaged. Scanning his eyes around the - decidedly grungy, even in the alcohol-induced haze - establishment, everybody seems to be a) at least half a dozen years older than them, and b) either making out or dancing.

Cas knows how to do neither.

He looks at Meg for guidance. She's not making out with anyone (thank god) and she's not really dancing either, just sipping her drink and kind of swaying to the music in a way that she manages to make inexplicably attractive. He tries to copy her and nearly topples over sideways, spilling his drink all over some random guy in an attempt to steady himself.

Meg bursts out laughing. His victim looks less amused.

'You wanna fucking watch where you're going, dude?' It's unfortunate, really - that the first coherent sentence he can make out in the first bar he's ever properly set foot in is spat out by the guy who's squaring up to fight him. He's big, broad and muscular and he looks angry. Cas still thinks he could take him down.  
>(The moment the thought is out there he flinches, as if backing away from himself - FOR GOD'S SAKE, DON'T SAY THAT.)<br>'You're a pacifist,' he reminds himself, sternly, and a little less silently than intended.  
>The guy's eyes widen in disbelief.<br>'I'm a WHAT now?!'  
>Cas pulls himself together - as best he can, when he's drunk in a strange nightclub with a pretty girl and a stranger clearly on the verge of beating him up. It's all a little bit surreal, honestly.<br>'Nothing. Sorry.' He takes a step back in surrender. 'Deepest apologies, Sir. I assure you I did not mean to do that. Here, let me reimburse you -' He opens his wallet, only to find it well and truly empty. Ah. Damn it.

Thankfully, the guy seems too bemused by Cas's conduct to focus on the financial side of things - for now, at least.  
>'DEEPEST APOLOGIES? SIR?!' He mimics, apparently incredulous. He turns to his friends - who are equally big and muscular, and have suddenly appeared behind him. 'Can you believe this guy?' They snigger in approval.<p>

Suddenly, Cas is angry.  
>'Yes, that's what I said. I've apologised. It was my mistake and I'm sorry. Please leave me alone now.'<br>The guy takes another step forward. Cas takes another step in response, so they'll practically nose to nose. He's now not sure if the guy looks more pissed or confused.  
>'I don't know what your game is, you little punk,' he hisses, so close that Cas can smell the smoke on his breath.<br>'Can I offer you a breath mint?'  
>'WHAT?!'<br>'Nothing...' Cas struggles to regain control of his mouth, and focus on the situation at hand.  
>'I think he wants a fight,' says one of the cronies, and Cas thinks, 'no, no, I really don't', but what he actually ends up saying is, 'I really don't think you want to do that.'<p>

'Was that a CHALLENGE?!'  
>'Woah, woah,' Cas looks up in surprise as Meg suddenly steps in between them. In the panic and adrenaline of the moment, he'd actually quite forgotten she was there. She turns to the guys. Her voice is considerably less booming than theirs, and, much as he strains his ears, he can only make out the odd phrase - 'just a kid', 'wasted', 'talking crap'.<br>'He's _sixteen_, Adam. You really gonna kick the lights out of some sophomore?'  
>'I'm a junior,' Cas says, confused. 'We're <em>both<em> juniors.'  
>The guys don't seem to hear, but Meg does - and she shoots him a look that scares him more than anything those stupid college bullies could say.<p>

After that, Meg seems to go out of her way to talk even more quietly than before, Cas stops even trying to keep track of the conversation, and the next thing he is properly aware of is the guys' begrudging departure, the ringleader muttering a half-hearted, 'you better watch your back, kid' as he does.

Meg stands still until they're safely out of eyesight and earshot, a strained smile on her face. It disappears the moment that they do, and she grabs Castiel by the hand and positively drags him outside.

'What are you _playing_ at, dumbass? You trying to get yourself killed?!' Meg rolls her eyes at him, but it's less playful than usual.  
>'I'm not scared of them,' Cas says, truthfully enough.<br>'Yeah, well, you should be. I am.'  
>Cas is taken aback by the admission - he hadn't thought Meg was afraid of anything, let alone willing to admit that she was.<br>'Adam,' he says, suddenly. It's Meg's turn to look confused. 'You called him Adam. Do you know those men?'  
>'<em>Boys<em>,' Meg corrects him, dodging the question. 'Adam and his cronies are very much boys.' There's a sudden riot of footsteps and voices, and Cas turns around to see the vast majority of the bar's inhabitants spilling out, some tripping and even collapsing on the uneven pavement while others stand in huddles, smoking and talking, seemingly in no real hurry to leave despite the bouncers' insistent urging them to do so.  
>He turns to Meg for an explanation. She still looks so stern, he's half expecting to be told it's <em>him<em> that caused the whole establishment to be evacuated.

Instead, she says, 'Closing time.'  
>'Isn't it a bit early?' To his own surprise, Castiel is almost disappointed.<br>'It's a Wednesday night.' He supposes it is. Michael will be going spare.  
><em>Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't…<em>  
>'Is there nowhere else we can go onto? Please?' He hears the desperation in his voice; he knows Meg does do. She looks at him with curiosity, and something close to pity.<br>'Hey, calm down, Lindsay Lohan. I think you've had enough. Home time.' He must look really miserable, because she quickly relents.

'Okay, okay. You can stay at mine tonight. But just this once.' She shakes her head and then turns, heading to the side of the road. Cas watches her go in mild alarm and extreme confusion.

'What are you _doing_?!'

'I'm hailing a cab. You really aren't used to this whole life thing, are you?'

Cas suspects that's meant as an insult – but he's too tired and tipsy and grateful to care.

'Not really,' he concedes, quite cheerfully. Then – 'Thankyou, Meg. I really do appreciate it.'

Meg smiles, grabs his hand and drags him in the direction of a car that's just pulled up.

'You puke, you pay,' is all she says, before shoving him inside – but at least she's smiling.


End file.
